The Possessor
by DG856
Summary: Godriwinsied Caeldeus is the rightful owner of Skyrim and everything present in it. Thrown into his promised land as a mere impoverished peasant, will he succeed in asserting his Godhood?


The blackness retracts, and my eyes gaze upon the land of Skyrim for the first time.

It is not in truth the first time however, as I feel a strong sense of familiarity.

I am once again descending a forest road held captive on a wooden cart with some unfortunate peasants.

Yet, there is something different from what I recall.

Contrary to what I'd expect, the wintery forest seems more vibrant in color while its shadows are darker and deeper.

Turning my head towards the horizon, I notice the distant scenery having a soft, cozy feeling to it.

Yes, this must be it.

The proof of my Godhood, and my first gift to the children of Skyrim.

Your days shall be bright, vibrant, and filled with joy,

whilst your nights shall be impenetrably dark, testing of your courage, and a time of self-reflection.

Begone, mediocre greyness devoid of taste.

As I think about this, having ignored the boring talk of peasants accompanying me on the cart,

we finally reach our destination, and I step off the cart as instructed by our imperial captors.

Whilst my fellow captors are being identified, one hapless peasant runs off, and goes down to an imperial arrow in the back.

I figure that, as a God, this makes me either malevolent or lacking omnipotence.

The imperial soldier counting off captors from a list calls me forward.

"And who are you?" He asks, clearly dismayed at having to.

I think about my answer.

For some reason, many things come to mind.

Such as my height, my weight, and even the shape of my eyebrows.

I'm decidedly a handsome God.

Tall, muscular, with golden hair that looks well even ruffled, and clear blue eyes with a compelling stare.

Only this peasant garb I'm wearing makes me no justice.

I can't wait to change it for something befitting and feel the adoring eyes of all my servants.

No, the imperial soldier, who is waiting for my answer with remarkable patience, isn't interested in hearing all that.

Let us keep it simple.

"My name is Godriwinsied Caeldeus, also known as "Alphaking", "Miracle Maker", or "The Possessor",

and I am the rightful owner of Skyrim, and all her peoples."

I proclaim with the confidence of a king speaking to a crowd of his subjects.

Everybody present stops their stirrings in order to reconsider whether they've heard me correctly.

The onlooking crowd proceeds to take my words as a joke, and they laugh, shower me with mockery, or both at once.

My fellow captives also give some quiet chuckles, appreciating my courage to fool around in the face of certain death.

"Oh, I see." says the soldier, looking both bewildered and amused.

"And what race do you belong to? I can't really tell."

"I belong to Herodivus, and I would be surprised if you could discern me as such, since I am the only Herodivus in Skyrim that I know of."

The soldier sighs, thoughtfully supports his forehead with his palm, and turns to his superior.

They talk about me not being on their list, but his superior concludes to have me executed regardless.

"I'm sorry, Godriwinsied of Herodivus, but it seems Skyrim only has place for a 'rightful owner' in her soil this day."

I slightly chuckle at that.

This man seems honestly apologetic, so I'll forgive him.

The imperials go about their doing, and first prisoner is laid on the executioner's block.

It saddens me to see my subjects killing each other over petty things like a civil war,

but it won't be long before they all live in peace under my absolute command.

The prisoner's head falls rolling into a bucket prepared by the executioner.

I am chosen as the next to be executed, and lead towards the executioner's block.

Even as I lay my head down on the cold stone and a priestess administers my last rites,

I'm confident that this won't be the end of me.

I feel it in the dispersed thoughts of my lesser incarnations.

The executioner lifts his axe.

Could I have been mistaken after all?

Just as he prepares to bring the axe down, a mighty beast appears out of the clear sky and crashes down on a watchtower right behind him.

It's a dragon taken straight out of the mythos, and the shockwave of his landing damages the tower, knocks the executioner aside,

and puts all the onlookers in utter shock.

Then, the dragon lets out a powerful roar that assaults everything in its path with unrelenting force, including the executioner

who was trying to get back up.

All my senses are momentarily stifled, and when I come about, one of the captives is urging me to get up.

We swiftly make our way through the ensuing chaos, towards a nearby watch tower.

Inside the watch tower, the captive, who I learn is called Ralof, unties my hands, and exchanges a few words

about the legendary beast raging outside with another captive, who he refers to as Jarl Ulfric.

However, we have no time to waste chatting, and once we are all unbound our hasty retreat is resumed.

As we run up the watchtower's spiral staircase, suddenly the wall just a few strides ahead of us is blown inwards by the dragon,

and loose rubble is scattered all around the watchtower's inside.

That was a close... wait.

The dragon peeks through the hole, and, upon detecting humans inside, releases his infernal flame inside the watchtower.

I retreat back down the stairs to avoid getting immolated, urged on by unbearable heat radiating from the broken wall.

Now that was a close call.

I pant heavily at the staircase's bottom, my body temperature having ascended so high that my brain feels as if it has been boiled.

The other two captives, Ralof and Jarl Ulric, have also made it through the attack.

"You go out through that ruined wall, and meet us on the fort's lower end. We'll take another route." Ralof informs me of their plan, and I don't hesitate in obliging.

I run up the staircase towards daylight that shines through the cracked wall.

As I get higher, the stones around me still radiate considerable heat, making me feel like I'm running through a large oven.

I leap out of the tower, and fall through a destroyed inn's roof.

It's a hard landing, but I have no time to consider that as I run out of the burning, collapsing building.

Finally, I'm under the open sky, and free of bondage.

But it's no time to rejoice, as the scene that unveils before me is of utter chaos.

People are running around, trying to help the injured or flee through burning rubble,

while the dragon adds to their suffering and desperation in every of his circling passes, with roars of flame and destructive power.

As I hurriedly look for an exit in the lower fort, I spot both Radolf and the imperial soldier who questioned me, whose name I've overheard to be Hadvar.

They both seem to have different exit routes prepared, and would likely let me follow.

Seeing me, Radolf calls out for me to follow him.

However, I'd rather find a simpler way out than through the fort's underground complex.

I search for a wall that borders an adjoining forest, and I run towards it.

As I reach it, I measure it at three times my height.

There is no way to climb it in reasonable amount of time, and, to make matters worse, the dragon seems to have laid his eyes on my position,

and is now swooping down towards me from across the fort.

I am in a fairly open area, with no cover that could possibly hinder the dragon's destructive shout.

This situation is truly hopeless, as nothing living can withstand a dragon's fire.

However, for the Miracle Maker, the one who bargains with the very strings that weave together what we call "existence" or "reality",

such situation is but a welcome challenge to his title.

I reach out for those omnipresent, fickle strands, and ready my spell.

"Aeg Sal Grata Tribus,

Ges Be Set Min,

Ludio Exec!"

Enormous power that should not exist within this universe passes through the ground, and flows into my lower body.

It feels as if my legs are made out of solid, unrelenting metal, yet under my full command.

I crouch, and just as I feel a wave of hot air hitting my back, I kick off the ground with such force

that the ground under me explodes, and it seems as if the whole world gave in and was shoved off backwards.

Gliding over the fort's high wall, I feel heat of the dragon's flame radiating from below,

as it melts the stones I was standing in front of just a second ago.

After a rather rough landing, I brush myself off, and make my way towards a road that goes northwards from the fort's lowermost gate.

The dragon is not interested in pursing a single man through this thick forest, so I can finally relax a bit.

When I reach the road, I notice Ralof and Hadvar facing off, their hands resting on the pummels of their weapons.

They don't seem to intend on fighting, tired and covered in soot as they are.

"Hello friends, looks like at least the three of us have made it out."

I call out to them in greeting.

The two rivals look at me, and than back at each other.

Ralof is the first to speak.

"Glad to see you've made it, friend.

There is something I need to ask you.

I don't recognize your race, but you don't seem like a crooked character,

and therefore I think that you care about the well being of Skyrim.

If that's so, will you to join the Stormcloak Rebellion?

Our duty is to throw off the crumbling imperial empire's oppressive shackles," He turns his gaze to Hadvar.

"and to uplift Skyrim into a new age of prosperity by staying true to what Skyrim stood for in her best days."

Hadvar shakes his head at that, and voices his side of the story.

"Once we beat the Stormcloaks and end this civil war,

Skyrim will be in her best days under the Imperial Legion.

We've held Skyrim together well for years, so don't let any malcontents tell you otherwise." He looks at Ralof and then back at me.

"I realize that your first encounter with us wasn't all that pleasant,

but be assured that it was all a regrettable mistake,

and the empire will still welcome a capable man like you as a legionnaire.

So, what do you say?"

They both look at me, wanting an answer that will affirm their righteousness.

It seems that they've both dismissed my earlier introduction.

"I cannot oblige either of you, as my position of Skyrim's rightful ruler and possessor does not allow me to be governed by

the will of anybody and anything other than myself.

Would you two be interested in becoming my apostles by any chance?

You can still keep your place under the lesser rulers."

This elicits equally irked expressions on both of their faces.

Why did I think that they would gladly accept this offer again?

"Am I to assume that you do not care to obey the empire's laws then?" Asserts Hadvar, and he draws his shortsword.

"The only ruler deserving of a higher position than Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak is Talos himself." Proclaims Ralof, and he lifts up his war axe.

I guess this is how it's going to be for now then.

I'm not too intimidated, as these two mortals obviously don't understand what I'm capable of.

As they try to close in on me with their weapons drawn, I take a deep breath to ready myself, and charge.

Like a sudden gust of mountain wind, I turn around and run into a nearby forest.

They try to chase me, but slowly fall behind each step, and I make sure to hope over each stone I pass to try and confuse them.

Eventually I can no longer hear them, so I crouch to make sure.

Good, I can no longer sense the two assailants.

So it begins.

I'm all alone, and ready to start taking back what's mine.

Piece by piece, bit by bit.

Until I have the wholeness of Skyrim at my fingertips.


End file.
